The idea of a "SouthLAnd" movie has been floated on-and-off since the cancellation of the show last year. Both the cast and the fans seem to want this project to happen, so I thought I'd put together a little presentation, in order to more fully explore the possibility of such a film.
"What," you may reasonably ask, "are your qualifications for pitching this project?" None, actually. My background is this: I hold a bachelor's degree in biology from San Francisco State University. I earned a teaching credential from the same institution, and I then taught high school for a couple of years before having my own family. I homeschooled my three children, who have all enjoyed success in college (although, that is more to their credit than mine). Currently, I am a school sponsor for the Young Storytellers Foundation. Aside from my family, this organization is my passion, my joy, and my primary commitment. I fully intend to remain involved with YSF as a school sponsor -- and in any other way in which I can be of help -- for as long as I am able. "SouthLAnd," though, is the television show which I have most enjoyed in my life. And I have some time and a few resources -- now that my children are grown -- to dedicate to the worthwhile endeavor of seeing a movie made.
That being said, here are some of the primary considerations (at least, to my rather uneducated mind) concerning what would be necessary for a "SouthLAnd" film project to come to fruition. I am sure this is in no way complete. I also apologize, as I realize it is rather unprofessional to present these ideas on my blog. It seems, though, to be to be the most effective means at my disposal for communicating with the necessary individuals. I also hope that I shall not be too long-winded.
I have based these ideas on the following sources:
a. the "Veronica Mars" Kickstarter project,
b. Deke Simon's book, "Film and Video Budgets" (Copyright 2010), and
c. the wonderful advice and direction of Andrea Lynch, Kiaya Mangan, and Julia Swain -- film students and budding film-makers.
So, here we go -->
CONSIDERATION #1: Who owns the rights to "SouthLAnd"?
This is probably the key question in even beginning to plan a "SouthLAnd" movie. Who owns the rights to the show? Is it the creator(s)/executive producer(s)? Is it the studio (Warner Bros.)? Is it the network (TNT)? Is it some combination of these? It seems to me that it would be ideal for the person or entity that owns the rights to spearhead a Kickstarter project, if that was the route chosen to secure the necessary funding. To use as an example the "Veronica Mars" Kickstarter, it was run by the creator of the show -- Rob Thomas. Attaching his name to the project and committing to it were probably essential elements in the success of the fundraising effort.
CONSIDERATION #2: What is the goal of the project?
To use again the example of the "Veronica Mars" film project, Rob Thomas explained that he wanted the audience to be satisfied with the conclusion of the story in a way that the final season did not manage to accomplish. He stated, "I wanted to go down swinging on this series." To me, this aptly sums up the desires of those involved with the "SouthLAnd" series. The creators, producers, and cast have all expressed sentiments similar to these. And, to me, this is an admirable goal -- one which I would be willing to support with my time, effort, and resources.
CONSIDERATION #3: Costs and Funding
Looking again at the "Veronica Mars" Kickstarter campaign, the goal was to raise $2,000,000. The amount that was actually raised amounted to $5,702,153 -- with the number of backers being 91,585.
In providing an example of a feature film budget, Deke Simon, in his book, "Film and Video Budgets," allows for a price tag of $5,000,000.
Therefore, it does seem that a budget in the millions is not an unreasonable estimate for the cost of a "SouthLAnd" movie. I know that the show was done on the frugal side, but "frugal" in Hollywood is probably not the same as "frugal" in my little household in San Diego County. Doing a film "on the cheap" may well require a budget of at least $2,000,000.
Lest this seem an incredibly large amount of money, there are many costs that would need to be covered:
a. Above-The-Line Costs -- such as, expenses for story rights (if that needs to happen), script development, and costs associated with paying producers, directors, cast members, and associated staff.
b. Below-The-Line Costs, or all those expenses associated with actual production and post-production -- such as, production staff, extra talent, sound stage, production design, set construction, set operations, special effects, set dressing, wardrobe, make-up and hair, electrical, camera, sound, transportation, location expenses, editing, optical/visual effects, music, post-production sound, titles and graphics, insurance, publicity and marketing.
c. There are also taxes and union expenses to be taken into consideration.
All in all, then, even a movie done with an eye to careful cost-control is still a very expensive undertaking. And doing it too cheaply may sacrifice quality and safety, both of which are out-of-the-question to me.
In thinking about the budgetary considerations, I did like Ben McKenzie's idea of having the story revolve around a specific situation, into which the whole cast is drawn. This would minimize the number of locations required and reduce the need for sound stage use and set construction (although, some would most likely be necessary).
CONSIDERATION #4: Looking More Carefully At A Kickstarter Campaign
As I have said, the individual/entity running a Kickstarter campaign for a "SouthLAnd" movie should own the rights to the show. This would be necessary legally, unless that person/entity gave permission to another person/entity to run the campaign. There is also the possibility of the rights being purchased by another party, but that could be prohibitively expensive and may jeopardize the chances of the movie being a commercial success, as the fans may question whether or not the new owner of the rights would give them the kind of story they had all come to expect from their favorite TV show.
A Kickstarter campaign is also not worry-free. Kickstarter charges a fee of 5% of all funds raised. The funds raised are also considered to be taxable income. And if the project should fail, those who run the campaign are actually legally liable. There is also the issue of rewards for backers, something that project funders have come to expect from Kickstarter campaigns. These can be problematic. Rob Thomas explains that, as rewards, the "Veronica Mars" project gave out 40 Associate Producer credits. These people were flown to LA to see a rough cut of the film and were invited to provide notes. "The Producers Guild did not approve, " Mr. Thomas states. This intrepid man also tells the tale of having to arrange 5000 autographed movie posters for backers. "It's been a 3-day assignment for us, with nine boxes at Kristen's house and 10 boxes at actor Ryan Hansen's house." Other rewards offered to the "Veronica Mars" backers included actual walk-on roles, and even a speaking part for the top backer (if I recall correctly). You may be thinking that this type of reward system is unnecessary, but I beg to differ. Those who run Kickstarter have explained that the amount of funding secured for a project is, more often than not, influenced by the types of rewards offered to backers.
A Kickstarter campaign usually requires a pitch video, as well -- another cost to be considered before any fan-based funding is even secured.
I don't mean to sound excessively negative here. It's just that an examination of these issues underscores -- at least for me -- the complexity of this endeavor and that the person spearheading the campaign should most preferably be the creator/executive producer of the show. Legally, he/she would be the best choice and would bring the reputation/name recognition necessary for such a large undertaking.
CONSIDERATION #5: Selling This Idea To Warner Bros.
I have gathered -- also from studying the "Veronica Mars" campaign -- that somebody with heavy influence would be required to sell the project "hard" (Chris Chulak's word) at Warner Bros. Because, after all, it is the studio which has all the actual "stuff" that would be required for an actual production. I would, of course, be happy to walk the halls of the great WB, pitch video in hand, talking to people. Somehow, though, I don't think that would work out so well. "Who let that crazy homeschooling mom in?" people would be asking each other, probably resulting in my being tossed out of the building by security. Assuming, though, that I had actual permission to enter the halls of that famed studio, I don't know if anyone would listen to me much. So, somebody of greater importance would need to step up. It's not that I wouldn't enjoy talking to people, selling the idea of a "SouthLAnd" movie. That would be great fun for me. And I do live relatively close to LA, which is an advantage.
CONSIDERATION #6: How would the final product reach its target audience?
If this were to be a TV movie, how would it be aired? Would TNT pick it up? Could a distribution deal be done with Netflix? Or would the best avenue of distribution be DVD and VOD? What are the legal/financial issues surrounding each of these distribution methods?
CONSIDERATION #7: Other Funding Options
There are, of course, other funding options besides a Kickstarter campaign. I have read that often film projects, these days, are financed using a variety of sources -- such as a combination of "investor money, state tax credits, loans, and advance sales of.... distribution rights." (Source for this quote is unknown. I wrote it down from my reading, but forgot to note the source.) It may be worthwhile to investigate such a funding mechanism for a "SouthLAnd" movie project. Perhaps a Kickstarter campaign could be part of the total mix. The advantages to this method would be that the diversification minimizes the risk for any one entity and would probably increase the amount of money that could be raised.
Another possible idea is to bring UCLA MFA students into the mix. Perhaps a "SouthLAnd" movie could be incorporated into a project or projects for them. This could help control costs, as well as provide opportunities for the up-and-coming generation of filmmakers. Julia Swain is currently a student in this program (her emphasis is cinematography), so perhaps she could provide some input as to the feasability of this option.
If you are still with me at this point, I would like to thank you for your kind attention. I will use Twitter to get copies of this presentation to Regina King, Michael Cudlitz, Shawn Hatosy, Ben McKenzie, Deb Craig, Andrea Lynch, Kiaya Mangan, Julia Swain, and Kim Sherrell. Who knows? Maybe we can actually do this thing. It would be pretty awesome.
I hope I have not insulted anyone's intelligence here. I am aware that many of you reading this already know these things. It is simply my goal to set everything out for the consideration of all those who might be involved in a fundraising effort.
Monday, April 21, 2014
Saturday, April 19, 2014
The Tape In The Hair
My mom used to do this. You know. Put tape in her hair.
"But, WHY?" you may reasonably ask.
It was her main hairstyling method, and I'm beginning to think there might be something to it.
Let me explain.
My mom sported a short hairstyle from the time she hit her mid-30's until the last day of her life. We used to call it a pixie. It was parted pretty much in the middle, was short all the way around, and there were bangs. I remember thinking of it as a "boy's haircut" when I was a kid. To be fair, though, it was more feminine than that. Except for the times when she got a bit carried away with the scissors. Like I got a bit carried away with the eyebrow tweezers just a few minutes ago (but, never mind about that).
Anyway, my mom would wash her short pixie-style hair, comb it into the desired shape, and then apply scotch tape all over her head to hold it in place while it dried. She would place a long piece of tape across the bangs, to hold them flat to her forehead. She would apply pieces of tape on either side of the part. She would also put several pieces of tape of varying lengths all along the back and sides of her head. And she would leave all this tape in place for several hours, until her hair was good and dry. Finally, she would peel off the tape and comb her hair -- ready for the day, at last (or at least the afternoon).
When I was growing up, I found all this to be unnerving. It all took SO long and looked (in my mind) ridiculous. My mom was very pretty, and to see her walking around with all this tape in her hair every morning annoyed me. (Yes. Daughters -- especially adolescent daughters -- can be quite exasperating and judgmental.) "Why," I would think to myself, "doesn't she just blow-dry her hair?" -- Or -- "Would it really look that bad if she let it air dry without the damn tape?" -- Or -- "She should just let it get longer, so it wouldn't stick out at odd angles if it dried without the tape." I would have this little dialogue with myself at least several times a month, exasperating and judgmental adolescent daughter that I was. I did complain about it to her every once-in-a-while, but that wasn't very well received, as I recall. So -- mostly -- I just talked to myself about it, wondering why my mother had to do this weird thing.
Well...
Now, I'm thinking it wasn't such a bad idea. I'm thinking of even taking up this idea myself.
Why?
Because I have rather thick, wavy hair and -- depending on the weather -- it sometimes dries, as my daughter Bridget describes it, "looking like a triangle sticking out of" my head. Why couldn't I just blow-dry it? Because my hair tends to be rather dry, and blow-drying it causes many split ends. It also ends up looking funny, because I really have no talent with a blow-dryer. I could use moose, but that doesn't feel good to me. Bridget tells me that I should just let it air dry into curls and then not comb it -- the combing it is what makes it stick out like a big, fluffy triangle -- but, that doesn't feel good to me, either. I like the feeling of the air circulating through my hair. I like to feel it move. Yes, this is all rather odd, but that's the way it is.
A few days ago, though, I remembered about the scotch tape. I could probably employ the scotch tape so that my hair wouldn't turn into a triangle. Perhaps, if I let it dry with the tape on, it would be tame enough so that, when I combed it, it would stay reasonably un-triangle-like. I don't know. But, I'm tempted to try it.
I wonder what my kids would say. ;-)
*******
I just realized that I used the wrong form of "moose" up there, but it's making me laugh so hard that I'm leaving it. Ha!
"But, WHY?" you may reasonably ask.
It was her main hairstyling method, and I'm beginning to think there might be something to it.
Let me explain.
My mom sported a short hairstyle from the time she hit her mid-30's until the last day of her life. We used to call it a pixie. It was parted pretty much in the middle, was short all the way around, and there were bangs. I remember thinking of it as a "boy's haircut" when I was a kid. To be fair, though, it was more feminine than that. Except for the times when she got a bit carried away with the scissors. Like I got a bit carried away with the eyebrow tweezers just a few minutes ago (but, never mind about that).
Anyway, my mom would wash her short pixie-style hair, comb it into the desired shape, and then apply scotch tape all over her head to hold it in place while it dried. She would place a long piece of tape across the bangs, to hold them flat to her forehead. She would apply pieces of tape on either side of the part. She would also put several pieces of tape of varying lengths all along the back and sides of her head. And she would leave all this tape in place for several hours, until her hair was good and dry. Finally, she would peel off the tape and comb her hair -- ready for the day, at last (or at least the afternoon).
When I was growing up, I found all this to be unnerving. It all took SO long and looked (in my mind) ridiculous. My mom was very pretty, and to see her walking around with all this tape in her hair every morning annoyed me. (Yes. Daughters -- especially adolescent daughters -- can be quite exasperating and judgmental.) "Why," I would think to myself, "doesn't she just blow-dry her hair?" -- Or -- "Would it really look that bad if she let it air dry without the damn tape?" -- Or -- "She should just let it get longer, so it wouldn't stick out at odd angles if it dried without the tape." I would have this little dialogue with myself at least several times a month, exasperating and judgmental adolescent daughter that I was. I did complain about it to her every once-in-a-while, but that wasn't very well received, as I recall. So -- mostly -- I just talked to myself about it, wondering why my mother had to do this weird thing.
Well...
Now, I'm thinking it wasn't such a bad idea. I'm thinking of even taking up this idea myself.
Why?
Because I have rather thick, wavy hair and -- depending on the weather -- it sometimes dries, as my daughter Bridget describes it, "looking like a triangle sticking out of" my head. Why couldn't I just blow-dry it? Because my hair tends to be rather dry, and blow-drying it causes many split ends. It also ends up looking funny, because I really have no talent with a blow-dryer. I could use moose, but that doesn't feel good to me. Bridget tells me that I should just let it air dry into curls and then not comb it -- the combing it is what makes it stick out like a big, fluffy triangle -- but, that doesn't feel good to me, either. I like the feeling of the air circulating through my hair. I like to feel it move. Yes, this is all rather odd, but that's the way it is.
A few days ago, though, I remembered about the scotch tape. I could probably employ the scotch tape so that my hair wouldn't turn into a triangle. Perhaps, if I let it dry with the tape on, it would be tame enough so that, when I combed it, it would stay reasonably un-triangle-like. I don't know. But, I'm tempted to try it.
I wonder what my kids would say. ;-)
*******
I just realized that I used the wrong form of "moose" up there, but it's making me laugh so hard that I'm leaving it. Ha!
Wednesday, April 16, 2014
Holy Thursday Memories
I was born in 1963, and grew up in the San Francisco Bay Area, in the heart of what many would consider to be "liberal Catholic land." For example, I was a teenager before I realized that "Blowin' In The Wind" and "Bridge Over Troubled Waters" were not originally written as official Mass music. And the homily at my youngest sister's First Communion dealt with the complexity of moral decision-making. Specifically, it addressed the topic of French kissing. I found this quite fascinating and asked my parents straight-away -- as soon as we got home -- what French kissing was. My father rolled his eyes. My mom explained. She was pretty forward-thinking. My father was pretty forward-thinking, too, but he left certain subjects to my mom.
Our parish was on the small side -- in both building size and number of members -- and I feel that I was blessed by this. Most of the parishioners considered each other to be friends, and we were all well-acquainted with the pastor and associate pastors. The atmosphere was very warm and intimate. The smaller size of our parish also allowed for many wonderful social occasions that felt more like family gatherings than official church functions.
One of these social occasions was the annual potluck dinner that was held in the church hall after the Holy Thursday Mass. Right after the altar was stripped and the Holy Eucharist was moved to the Altar of Repose (in the sacristy behind the main altar), we all proceeded to the church hall for this meal. It was great fun! Everybody was in a festive spirit. There were casseroles (which I adored) and salads of all types (including of jell-o, which I also adored). There was punch and coffee and many kinds of desserts -- cakes and cookies and pies. My favorite part was to make my way around the food tables after everybody was done eating, and busy chatting, and help myself to the radishes that nobody ate. There were always MANY radishes. And I ate them all. I still love radishes. And I still get them all, because nobody in my family cares for them.
Now, some of you may look at all this with a disapproving eye. Because -- as all good, traditional Catholics know -- after the Holy Eucharist is moved to the Altar of Repose on Holy Thursday, everybody is supposed to be solemn and crowd into the room in front of the Holy Eucharist and pray. The last thing there is supposed to be is a PARTY, for Heaven's sake!!!
Well, frankly, the Holy Thursday shenanigans at the progressive parish where I grew up turned out to be one of the very best things for the preservation of my faith over time. Because -- sometimes -- I just get fed up and want to throw in the towel. And when I do get fed up, I am always drawn to the following memory:
Every year, after polishing off the radishes, while everybody else was chatting up a storm, I would wander over to the Altar of Repose in the sacristy behind the main altar. It would just be me -- all by my lonesome. I began doing this when I was probably about 7 or 8 years old. I had been well-instructed (by my progressive Catholic nun teacher, nonetheless) in the Church's theology of the Eucharist, and I believed (and I still do believe) in the Real Presence. The Altar of Repose was always quite lovely. There were candles and Easter lilies and lovely altar cloths. There was a little kneeler in front of the whole thing. The room was dark, except for the candlelight. And I would kneel down, the sweet smell of the lilies filling the room. And I would just be quiet and think about how Jesus was there right in front of me and how cool that was. I would think about how He loved me and how we were just hanging out together. Just Him and me. And I would just feel calm. And -- believe me -- I was not a calm little kid. I was always sort of anxious. My mom was seriously ill when I was fairly young, my dad had some significant work issues (that did work out over time, but were quite stressful when they were occurring), there was alcoholism amongst some of my extended family members, and certain people in my life could be rather fiery in their temperaments. I also hated school. As much as I loved my progressive nun teacher, I hated school. Especially math. So, just being quiet with Jesus in the candlelight and feeling calm inside was quite something. I felt incredible peace -- maybe Divine peace. I don't know. All I know is I just knelt there and felt like Jesus was my friend, that He was on my side, that He would stick with me, no matter what.
So, when I get all fed up with what I see going on nowadays -- with the "holy" people bashing the "not holy enough" people, with all the judging, with the massive failings of the Church hierarchy -- and I want to just give up on the whole "formal religion" thing, I remember the times I spent with Jesus on Holy Thursday. And I know -- I know for sure -- that no matter what, no matter how much I fall and fail and doubt, that He won't leave, that He won't look at me harshly, because He gets it. He really does. He gets all of us. And He won't leave us alone. This I know. I know it for sure. I know it because I learned it directly from Him on those Holy Thursdays spent all alone in front of the Altar of Repose. After eating all the radishes.
Pax Christi.
Our parish was on the small side -- in both building size and number of members -- and I feel that I was blessed by this. Most of the parishioners considered each other to be friends, and we were all well-acquainted with the pastor and associate pastors. The atmosphere was very warm and intimate. The smaller size of our parish also allowed for many wonderful social occasions that felt more like family gatherings than official church functions.
One of these social occasions was the annual potluck dinner that was held in the church hall after the Holy Thursday Mass. Right after the altar was stripped and the Holy Eucharist was moved to the Altar of Repose (in the sacristy behind the main altar), we all proceeded to the church hall for this meal. It was great fun! Everybody was in a festive spirit. There were casseroles (which I adored) and salads of all types (including of jell-o, which I also adored). There was punch and coffee and many kinds of desserts -- cakes and cookies and pies. My favorite part was to make my way around the food tables after everybody was done eating, and busy chatting, and help myself to the radishes that nobody ate. There were always MANY radishes. And I ate them all. I still love radishes. And I still get them all, because nobody in my family cares for them.
Now, some of you may look at all this with a disapproving eye. Because -- as all good, traditional Catholics know -- after the Holy Eucharist is moved to the Altar of Repose on Holy Thursday, everybody is supposed to be solemn and crowd into the room in front of the Holy Eucharist and pray. The last thing there is supposed to be is a PARTY, for Heaven's sake!!!
Well, frankly, the Holy Thursday shenanigans at the progressive parish where I grew up turned out to be one of the very best things for the preservation of my faith over time. Because -- sometimes -- I just get fed up and want to throw in the towel. And when I do get fed up, I am always drawn to the following memory:
Every year, after polishing off the radishes, while everybody else was chatting up a storm, I would wander over to the Altar of Repose in the sacristy behind the main altar. It would just be me -- all by my lonesome. I began doing this when I was probably about 7 or 8 years old. I had been well-instructed (by my progressive Catholic nun teacher, nonetheless) in the Church's theology of the Eucharist, and I believed (and I still do believe) in the Real Presence. The Altar of Repose was always quite lovely. There were candles and Easter lilies and lovely altar cloths. There was a little kneeler in front of the whole thing. The room was dark, except for the candlelight. And I would kneel down, the sweet smell of the lilies filling the room. And I would just be quiet and think about how Jesus was there right in front of me and how cool that was. I would think about how He loved me and how we were just hanging out together. Just Him and me. And I would just feel calm. And -- believe me -- I was not a calm little kid. I was always sort of anxious. My mom was seriously ill when I was fairly young, my dad had some significant work issues (that did work out over time, but were quite stressful when they were occurring), there was alcoholism amongst some of my extended family members, and certain people in my life could be rather fiery in their temperaments. I also hated school. As much as I loved my progressive nun teacher, I hated school. Especially math. So, just being quiet with Jesus in the candlelight and feeling calm inside was quite something. I felt incredible peace -- maybe Divine peace. I don't know. All I know is I just knelt there and felt like Jesus was my friend, that He was on my side, that He would stick with me, no matter what.
So, when I get all fed up with what I see going on nowadays -- with the "holy" people bashing the "not holy enough" people, with all the judging, with the massive failings of the Church hierarchy -- and I want to just give up on the whole "formal religion" thing, I remember the times I spent with Jesus on Holy Thursday. And I know -- I know for sure -- that no matter what, no matter how much I fall and fail and doubt, that He won't leave, that He won't look at me harshly, because He gets it. He really does. He gets all of us. And He won't leave us alone. This I know. I know it for sure. I know it because I learned it directly from Him on those Holy Thursdays spent all alone in front of the Altar of Repose. After eating all the radishes.
Pax Christi.
Thursday, March 27, 2014
I think I have not changed a bit...
...since high school.
I was thinking about this because of the "Gotham" casting calls.
To back up a little, if you have been reading this blog for a while, you may remember the post wherein I described dragging my best friend through the process of trying out for the high school pom-pom girl squad, even though we had pretty much none of the qualifications for the job. And, yes, she thought I was pretty crazy, but -- because she was such a nice best friend -- she went along with it. And, no, we did not make the squad. Such is life.
Anyway, back to the "Gotham" casting calls.
I have made a wonderful internet friend who runs "Ben McKenzie News." If you do not know who Ben McKenzie is, then you have obviously not read my blog AT ALL. Ben is a big star. He is also a really nice guy. I have this on good authority. And he is headlining the upcoming TV show "Gotham." "Gotham" is a Batman prequel series, and Ben is playing the main character -- Detective Gordon -- who will be the future Commissioner Gordon.
Anyway, the lovely lady who runs "Ben McKenzie News" has, naturally, been giving us daily updates on the filming of the pilot, which is happening, as we speak, in New York City. It is all quite exciting. Miss Pinelou, as I shall call her, posts BTS photos and videos, anecdotes, fan pictures, and -- of course -- casting calls. And when she posts the casting calls, I always imagine which role or roles I would be good for, and I tell her. And I ask her which role or roles she would want to play.
Now, for many of these roles, there are not a whole lot of requirements. You might have to possess certain clothes or a certain type of vehicle or have a certain "look." Some of the roles don't even require you to be a union member. There have been casting calls for: prostitutes, cab drivers, diner waitresses, women to drive American cars and trucks back and forth on the street, drummers, funeral-goers, Asian pedestrians, and burlesque dancers.
This is all very tempting to me. And I realize that -- were I in NYC -- I would totally be showing up for at least some of these casting calls. And I would be dragging my lovely friend, Miss Pinelou, along with me. She would probably be hesitant -- at least at first -- but I would prevail. Just like I did with my best friend in high school. Miss Pinelou is from Japan, and one of the casting calls was for Asian people to play pedestrians. She would be a shoe-in for that one. I would want to play a prostitute, because it would be fun to wear a tight little outfit after all the dieting efforts I have been putting forth over the past couple of months. It might also be fun to be a diner waitress. I think I am earthy-looking enough to be a diner waitress, and it would be a total hoot to call Detective Gordon "hun." As in, "What'll ya have, hun?" I'd say this as I stood there jauntily, with a coffee pot in one hand and my other hand on my hip. Miss Pinelou and I would also be quite adept at driving the American cars up and down the street, or standing solemnly at the funeral of Mr. and Mrs. Wayne. Of course, the casting call said that you had to have upscale funeral clothes for the funeral scene, and I don't really have anything like that. But, I'll bet Miss Pinelou does. And my daughter Bridget does, so she could come along, too.
WE WOULD ALL HAVE SO MUCH FUN!!!
So, you see, I have not changed -- not one bit -- since high school. And, I admit, this distresses me a little bit. But, it also makes me more than a little bit happy inside. ;-)
I was thinking about this because of the "Gotham" casting calls.
To back up a little, if you have been reading this blog for a while, you may remember the post wherein I described dragging my best friend through the process of trying out for the high school pom-pom girl squad, even though we had pretty much none of the qualifications for the job. And, yes, she thought I was pretty crazy, but -- because she was such a nice best friend -- she went along with it. And, no, we did not make the squad. Such is life.
Anyway, back to the "Gotham" casting calls.
I have made a wonderful internet friend who runs "Ben McKenzie News." If you do not know who Ben McKenzie is, then you have obviously not read my blog AT ALL. Ben is a big star. He is also a really nice guy. I have this on good authority. And he is headlining the upcoming TV show "Gotham." "Gotham" is a Batman prequel series, and Ben is playing the main character -- Detective Gordon -- who will be the future Commissioner Gordon.
Anyway, the lovely lady who runs "Ben McKenzie News" has, naturally, been giving us daily updates on the filming of the pilot, which is happening, as we speak, in New York City. It is all quite exciting. Miss Pinelou, as I shall call her, posts BTS photos and videos, anecdotes, fan pictures, and -- of course -- casting calls. And when she posts the casting calls, I always imagine which role or roles I would be good for, and I tell her. And I ask her which role or roles she would want to play.
Now, for many of these roles, there are not a whole lot of requirements. You might have to possess certain clothes or a certain type of vehicle or have a certain "look." Some of the roles don't even require you to be a union member. There have been casting calls for: prostitutes, cab drivers, diner waitresses, women to drive American cars and trucks back and forth on the street, drummers, funeral-goers, Asian pedestrians, and burlesque dancers.
This is all very tempting to me. And I realize that -- were I in NYC -- I would totally be showing up for at least some of these casting calls. And I would be dragging my lovely friend, Miss Pinelou, along with me. She would probably be hesitant -- at least at first -- but I would prevail. Just like I did with my best friend in high school. Miss Pinelou is from Japan, and one of the casting calls was for Asian people to play pedestrians. She would be a shoe-in for that one. I would want to play a prostitute, because it would be fun to wear a tight little outfit after all the dieting efforts I have been putting forth over the past couple of months. It might also be fun to be a diner waitress. I think I am earthy-looking enough to be a diner waitress, and it would be a total hoot to call Detective Gordon "hun." As in, "What'll ya have, hun?" I'd say this as I stood there jauntily, with a coffee pot in one hand and my other hand on my hip. Miss Pinelou and I would also be quite adept at driving the American cars up and down the street, or standing solemnly at the funeral of Mr. and Mrs. Wayne. Of course, the casting call said that you had to have upscale funeral clothes for the funeral scene, and I don't really have anything like that. But, I'll bet Miss Pinelou does. And my daughter Bridget does, so she could come along, too.
WE WOULD ALL HAVE SO MUCH FUN!!!
So, you see, I have not changed -- not one bit -- since high school. And, I admit, this distresses me a little bit. But, it also makes me more than a little bit happy inside. ;-)
Sunday, March 16, 2014
A Lent Blog Post (Gag...)
I hate Lent blog posts.
For no good reason, except for the fact that they drive me crazy.
There are just WAY too many of them, filled with WAY too much advice.
And I end up getting all anxious.
Because I'm really not very good at Lent, at least in the way most "serious" Catholics think you should be good at Lent.
Because I am basically a wimpy candy-ass.
But, here I am, writing Lent blog post.
*headdesk*
Anyway...
When I was a little girl, I really loved Lent.
I went to Catholic school and we went to church and got ashes on Ash Wednesday. Which was really fun, because afterwards, all us kids would compare ash marks. We would talk about which priests gave the best ones and which priests got the ashes in your eyes and whose looked the most like crosses and whose would last the longest. Us kids would also talk all about what we were giving up for Lent. Some of us gave up chocolate and some of us gave up chewing gum and some of us gave up swearing and some of us gave up our favorite TV show. I never gave up my favorite TV show, because for most of my childhood, it was "Emergency." And there was no friggin' way I was giving up "Emergency" for Lent. I usually gave up chocolate. On Fridays, all us Catholic school kids would compare lunches and see what meatless items our mothers has packed away for us. Most of the kids had the usual -- peanut butter and jelly on Wonder Bread and tuna on wheat. But, my mother, being who she was, would often pack such sandwich delicacies as deviled egg mixed with chopped olive or deviled egg mixed with canned shrimp. These creations would inevitably result in various expressions of disgust from my Catholic school confreres, which greatly pleased me, because I have always been such a rebel contrarian. (I learned to be a rebel contrarian in Catholic school, because I was picked on a lot in these institutions, and it was either that or knuckle under to the bullies. And I was not one to knuckle under to the bullies.)
Lent was also a lot of fun in my house. Spring was coming on and my dad would beautify the yard with his Italian gardening skills. He would spruce up the house by scrubbing various dirty items -- like the stove and the barbecue -- and perhaps applying some paint. My dad was a kick-ass cleaning person. So was my mom. And they knew how to make our house shine. Perhaps they were a bit over-the-top in their cleaning enthusiasm, but I enjoyed the results. And on the Fridays of Lent, my mom would cook the most amazing fried fish dinners. She would pick us up from school and we would go by the fish market on the way home. Yes, there was an actual fish market in our town. You don't see many of those these days. My mom would purchase filet of soul and oysters, which she would coat in a batter of flour and egg, frying them in her electric fry pan. This wonderful fish would be served with tartar sauce she made herself and lemon wedges. The sides would be fresh asparagus or artichokes, homemade mashed potatoes, and sourdough bread. It was amazing. To be honest, though, I couldn't stand the oysters. But, I loved the filet of sole. And since my parents both loved the oysters, and never forced them upon my sisters and me, all was well and happy.
Now, some of you may think that all of this doesn't sound very sacrificial and suffering-inducing. And it probably wasn't. And I think that's one of the reasons I grew up to love Jesus so much. I always had very positive associations with Jesus and being Catholic and Lent. Jesus was AWESOME and being Catholic was AWESOME and Lent was AWESOME! In my childhood, anyway.
So, what am I giving up for Lent this year?
Lent blog posts.
And I am resolving to remember the Lents of my childhood -- full of family and fun and love and good food.
Pax. ;-)
For no good reason, except for the fact that they drive me crazy.
There are just WAY too many of them, filled with WAY too much advice.
And I end up getting all anxious.
Because I'm really not very good at Lent, at least in the way most "serious" Catholics think you should be good at Lent.
Because I am basically a wimpy candy-ass.
But, here I am, writing Lent blog post.
*headdesk*
Anyway...
When I was a little girl, I really loved Lent.
I went to Catholic school and we went to church and got ashes on Ash Wednesday. Which was really fun, because afterwards, all us kids would compare ash marks. We would talk about which priests gave the best ones and which priests got the ashes in your eyes and whose looked the most like crosses and whose would last the longest. Us kids would also talk all about what we were giving up for Lent. Some of us gave up chocolate and some of us gave up chewing gum and some of us gave up swearing and some of us gave up our favorite TV show. I never gave up my favorite TV show, because for most of my childhood, it was "Emergency." And there was no friggin' way I was giving up "Emergency" for Lent. I usually gave up chocolate. On Fridays, all us Catholic school kids would compare lunches and see what meatless items our mothers has packed away for us. Most of the kids had the usual -- peanut butter and jelly on Wonder Bread and tuna on wheat. But, my mother, being who she was, would often pack such sandwich delicacies as deviled egg mixed with chopped olive or deviled egg mixed with canned shrimp. These creations would inevitably result in various expressions of disgust from my Catholic school confreres, which greatly pleased me, because I have always been such a rebel contrarian. (I learned to be a rebel contrarian in Catholic school, because I was picked on a lot in these institutions, and it was either that or knuckle under to the bullies. And I was not one to knuckle under to the bullies.)
Lent was also a lot of fun in my house. Spring was coming on and my dad would beautify the yard with his Italian gardening skills. He would spruce up the house by scrubbing various dirty items -- like the stove and the barbecue -- and perhaps applying some paint. My dad was a kick-ass cleaning person. So was my mom. And they knew how to make our house shine. Perhaps they were a bit over-the-top in their cleaning enthusiasm, but I enjoyed the results. And on the Fridays of Lent, my mom would cook the most amazing fried fish dinners. She would pick us up from school and we would go by the fish market on the way home. Yes, there was an actual fish market in our town. You don't see many of those these days. My mom would purchase filet of soul and oysters, which she would coat in a batter of flour and egg, frying them in her electric fry pan. This wonderful fish would be served with tartar sauce she made herself and lemon wedges. The sides would be fresh asparagus or artichokes, homemade mashed potatoes, and sourdough bread. It was amazing. To be honest, though, I couldn't stand the oysters. But, I loved the filet of sole. And since my parents both loved the oysters, and never forced them upon my sisters and me, all was well and happy.
Now, some of you may think that all of this doesn't sound very sacrificial and suffering-inducing. And it probably wasn't. And I think that's one of the reasons I grew up to love Jesus so much. I always had very positive associations with Jesus and being Catholic and Lent. Jesus was AWESOME and being Catholic was AWESOME and Lent was AWESOME! In my childhood, anyway.
So, what am I giving up for Lent this year?
Lent blog posts.
And I am resolving to remember the Lents of my childhood -- full of family and fun and love and good food.
Pax. ;-)
Sunday, March 9, 2014
My Future Hipster Life
How do I know about hipsters?
Because of Shawn Hatosy.
Shawn is one of my top five favorite movie stars. He nails his roles. Always. And his hair is perfect. Always.
If you watch "SouthLAnd," you will immediately recognize Shawn by this perfect hair. He plays Sammy Bryant -- a detective for the first three seasons, and a uniform cop during seasons four and five. But, whether in a suit or a uniform and gun belt, Shawn's hair is consistently flawless. As are his scenes. And his gun technique. And his driving. Ben McKenzie, who plays Sammy Bryant's partner -- Officer Ben Sherman -- probably wins in the foot chase category. But, nobody outclasses Shawn in the driving department. That's why the director almost always has Shawn drive and Ben jump out of the car and run. Directors are paid to know what's what about these things. And that's why the women characters should want to go out with Sammy Bryant instead of Ben Sherman. I mean dating, after all, involves much more driving than foot chases. That's the way it was in the '80's, at least. Perhaps things have changed???
So, anyway, back to hipsters. As I said, I know about hipsters because of Shawn. He likes to make jokes about them. Good-natured jokes, of course. Shawn is never, ever mean. I'm not going to explain here what a hipster is. I'm just going to tell you about my goal for the future, which involves hipsters.
Here goes:
Right now, I live in suburbia. It's nice and all. I'm not complaining. I have a typical suburban SoCal house in a typical suburban SoCal neighborhood. I drive a minivan, which is nice because I can fit my two greyhounds into it, as well as my hubs and my three young adult kids (who are all in various phases of living at home). My neighbors are great. The town in which I live is safe and clean. It is a lovely, lovely place to raise a family.
But, it is all a bit dull for my retirement. And when I retire -- no offense to the other retirees, who I'm sure are all fun and exciting -- but, I want to live with the hipsters in Silver Lake. Because that's where hipsters live -- in Silver Lake.
Silver Lake is this place in LA, which is very "edgy." As far as I understand, there are edgy coffee places and restaurants and club-type establishments and shops. And there are many, many hipsters, who seem to be quite entertaining to be around. Especially when you are -- like -- 60 or 65 or 70 years old. I think there is also a medical marijuana place in Silver Lake, but I don't really want any of that. Because I learned on "SouthLAnd" that medical marijuana is much stronger than regular marijuana. And I just don't see that anybody would be served by me having any of this medical marijuana -- or even regular marijuana. So, I won't go to the medical marijuana place. But, I would like to go to the edgy coffee shops and restaurants and club-type places. I would like to sit and have a glass of wine or a cup of coffee with the hipsters and chat with them about their concerns and their goals for their lives. I would not actually BE a hipster, you see, because I really can't do skinny jeans and I am a miserable failure at wearing scarves (they always fall off when I bend over), but I think I would enjoy the company of the hipsters. And I think they would enjoy the company of me. I might even try some sushi in Silver Lake. Who knows? Maybe Silver Lake -- with all of those "fumes" wafting through the air -- would embolden me enough to let go of my fear of a brain parasite and try some sushi. Especially if it came with saki.
So -- as I imagine it -- when I am 60-ish years old, my hubs and I and any of our kids who want to come and any pets we might have will get some kind of cool place to live in Silver Lake, with hardwood floors and the most modern paint colors and clean windows and some type of little herb garden (to grow basil, NOT marijuana). We will hang my daughter Andrea's photographs on the walls. Maybe we will all go in together and buy a triplex or a little apartment building. That way, if my kids have families of their own, everyone will have a their own space and plenty of privacy. Wouldn't that be nice? We will trade in our minivan for a Subaru and invest in some reusable grocery bags. This abode will be within an old person's walking distance of the trendiest coffee houses and restaurants and bars. I envision myself heading down each morning to get a cup of coffee and staying for a little chat with my hipster friends, who will find me eccentrically fascinating. On most days, I will take an additional walk in order to have lunch or dinner or drinks or listen to music or go shopping for trendy handbags. Being within walking distance of all the fun means that my hubs and my kiddos will never have to worry about their mum getting into a scrape with the cops over having a bit too much saki with her sushi. And the proprietors of all the establishments will have my son's cell phone number handy, in case he might be needed to walk his mum home after her night on the town.
Of course, by the time I retire, there may not be anymore hipsters. But -- if my life experience has taught me anything -- it's that there will be some new and equally fascinating phenomenon to take their place. And this new and equally fascinating phenomenon will probably exist in Silver Lake. And I'm game. ;-)
Because of Shawn Hatosy.
Shawn is one of my top five favorite movie stars. He nails his roles. Always. And his hair is perfect. Always.
If you watch "SouthLAnd," you will immediately recognize Shawn by this perfect hair. He plays Sammy Bryant -- a detective for the first three seasons, and a uniform cop during seasons four and five. But, whether in a suit or a uniform and gun belt, Shawn's hair is consistently flawless. As are his scenes. And his gun technique. And his driving. Ben McKenzie, who plays Sammy Bryant's partner -- Officer Ben Sherman -- probably wins in the foot chase category. But, nobody outclasses Shawn in the driving department. That's why the director almost always has Shawn drive and Ben jump out of the car and run. Directors are paid to know what's what about these things. And that's why the women characters should want to go out with Sammy Bryant instead of Ben Sherman. I mean dating, after all, involves much more driving than foot chases. That's the way it was in the '80's, at least. Perhaps things have changed???
So, anyway, back to hipsters. As I said, I know about hipsters because of Shawn. He likes to make jokes about them. Good-natured jokes, of course. Shawn is never, ever mean. I'm not going to explain here what a hipster is. I'm just going to tell you about my goal for the future, which involves hipsters.
Here goes:
Right now, I live in suburbia. It's nice and all. I'm not complaining. I have a typical suburban SoCal house in a typical suburban SoCal neighborhood. I drive a minivan, which is nice because I can fit my two greyhounds into it, as well as my hubs and my three young adult kids (who are all in various phases of living at home). My neighbors are great. The town in which I live is safe and clean. It is a lovely, lovely place to raise a family.
But, it is all a bit dull for my retirement. And when I retire -- no offense to the other retirees, who I'm sure are all fun and exciting -- but, I want to live with the hipsters in Silver Lake. Because that's where hipsters live -- in Silver Lake.
Silver Lake is this place in LA, which is very "edgy." As far as I understand, there are edgy coffee places and restaurants and club-type establishments and shops. And there are many, many hipsters, who seem to be quite entertaining to be around. Especially when you are -- like -- 60 or 65 or 70 years old. I think there is also a medical marijuana place in Silver Lake, but I don't really want any of that. Because I learned on "SouthLAnd" that medical marijuana is much stronger than regular marijuana. And I just don't see that anybody would be served by me having any of this medical marijuana -- or even regular marijuana. So, I won't go to the medical marijuana place. But, I would like to go to the edgy coffee shops and restaurants and club-type places. I would like to sit and have a glass of wine or a cup of coffee with the hipsters and chat with them about their concerns and their goals for their lives. I would not actually BE a hipster, you see, because I really can't do skinny jeans and I am a miserable failure at wearing scarves (they always fall off when I bend over), but I think I would enjoy the company of the hipsters. And I think they would enjoy the company of me. I might even try some sushi in Silver Lake. Who knows? Maybe Silver Lake -- with all of those "fumes" wafting through the air -- would embolden me enough to let go of my fear of a brain parasite and try some sushi. Especially if it came with saki.
So -- as I imagine it -- when I am 60-ish years old, my hubs and I and any of our kids who want to come and any pets we might have will get some kind of cool place to live in Silver Lake, with hardwood floors and the most modern paint colors and clean windows and some type of little herb garden (to grow basil, NOT marijuana). We will hang my daughter Andrea's photographs on the walls. Maybe we will all go in together and buy a triplex or a little apartment building. That way, if my kids have families of their own, everyone will have a their own space and plenty of privacy. Wouldn't that be nice? We will trade in our minivan for a Subaru and invest in some reusable grocery bags. This abode will be within an old person's walking distance of the trendiest coffee houses and restaurants and bars. I envision myself heading down each morning to get a cup of coffee and staying for a little chat with my hipster friends, who will find me eccentrically fascinating. On most days, I will take an additional walk in order to have lunch or dinner or drinks or listen to music or go shopping for trendy handbags. Being within walking distance of all the fun means that my hubs and my kiddos will never have to worry about their mum getting into a scrape with the cops over having a bit too much saki with her sushi. And the proprietors of all the establishments will have my son's cell phone number handy, in case he might be needed to walk his mum home after her night on the town.
Of course, by the time I retire, there may not be anymore hipsters. But -- if my life experience has taught me anything -- it's that there will be some new and equally fascinating phenomenon to take their place. And this new and equally fascinating phenomenon will probably exist in Silver Lake. And I'm game. ;-)
Tuesday, March 4, 2014
Love, Respect, and -- Say, What???
Perhaps I am misunderstanding or misinterpreting something here. But, I have been seeing an idea floating around the interwebs to the effect that:
*Women need love and men need respect and this is the way to have a good relationship/marriage.*
Ahem...
SAY, WHAT???
This reminds me a bit of these lame-ass books I read years ago called "Fascinating Womanhood" and "Man Of Steel And Velvet," which basically advised men to do manly things like kill spiders and women to cry like little girls when their husbands were unfaithful to them (thus, playing upon the emotions of these dudes and bringing them back into line.) I kind of tried to get into these ideas, as I was a Reagan conservative at the time, and all. But, they also kind of made me gag. Over the years, I have decided that these books and their ideas serve nobody, really. You don't encourage women to act like little girls in order to gain the love of their husbands. Women are also plenty capable of killing spiders, for land's sake. And being a good, suportive husband does not require dudes to perform manly feats of daring-do. My son, for example, is a very manly man. And guess who was standing on the arm of the sofa when the GIANT lizard got into the family room? And guess which woman with the biology degree caught said lizard -- with her bare hands, no less. Yet, when I am at a loss and need advice about an important matter, guess which young man is always readily available with a sympathetic ear and solid horse sense? "Manliness" and "womanliness" are not always so easily defined.
Anyway, these fascinating, steely, velvety ideas seem to be back, although somewhat repackaged. Women need love and men need respect, you say? I say bunk. They both need both. Over a lifetime, they both need both.
Now, I have heard women speak disrespectfully of their husbands. Truly disrespectfully. And -- maybe -- that is what these "new" ideas are addressing. It is very destructive to a marriage when a woman is consistently disrespectful of her husband in thought, word, and deed. It is just plain mean. And shows a lack of love. But, I have also heard husbands speak disrespectfully of their wives, which is destructive. And mean. And shows a lack of love. Love and respect are -- intricately and irrevocably -- tied together.
I guess, though, what people may be thinking of, when they speak husbandly love, are tenderness on the part of the husband toward his wife -- an emotional connection, understanding of her feelings, a sweet touch and expression, an intuitive knowledge of her needs in the moment. For example, if the wife is suffering severe barfiness and exhaustion every evening during her first trimester of pregnancy, a husband who knows -- without being asked -- to bring the TV into the bedroom, so he can both watch the game and rub his wife's back while she suffers for the sake of their child, could be said to be showing love. This husband realizes the need his wife has of being close to him, even if she is not particularly good company for a few months. He will recognize that watching the TV out in the living room while his wife is stuck in the bedroom every evening after dinner -- unable to achieve an upright position without upchucking -- is not the loving thing to do.
By the same token, when people think of a wife showing respect to her husband, they may mean that she actively shows an appreciation for the things he does for her and their family, for his abilities, for his strengths. If a husband is good at his job or at household repairs, for example, he probably would appreciate his wife praising him for those things. Such praise from the woman he loves would, naturally, give a man confidence and build his self-esteem.
Now, before I make my feminist self hurl by talking like this, I would like to point something out.
Even though women need love and men need respect, I believe it is equally true that women need respect and men need love. I have been married long enough -- and many of my friends have been married long enough -- that I know this. I know it for sure.
After a long day, during an illness, while grieving a loss -- heck, at any and all times -- men need "love" just as much as women do, in many of the same forms that women need it. They enjoy tenderness and intuitive understanding just as much as any woman.
And women need respect as much as any man does. Women go through many phases in their lives -- phases which are often dramatically different from each other. This may sound -- or even be -- sexist, but many women bear children. And this bearing of children and raising them and having them leave the nest means that a woman must redefine herself several times as she goes through life, in a way that is both professional and profoundly personal. Having the respect of her husband is vital to a woman -- to her self-confidence and sense of self-esteem -- as she goes through these phases. A husband who shows his wife that he respects her in her roles as a wife and mother, in her professional and creative endeavors, who actively supports her as she transitions from one major role to the next, gives her a truly priceless gift. The esteem with which a husband regards his wife's intelligence, opinions, and thought processes will profoundly impact the way she views herself. A husband's respect for his wife has just as much an impact on her self-confidence, self-esteem, and success as a wife's respect for her husband has on him.
Life is complicated, and sometimes (blessedly) messy. Let's not put each other into nice, neat little boxes too easily. Those boxes, which -- admittedly -- may seem to work at times, can end up being our self-imposed prisons, whether we are male or female, married or single, or some combination thereof.
Pax.
*Women need love and men need respect and this is the way to have a good relationship/marriage.*
Ahem...
SAY, WHAT???
This reminds me a bit of these lame-ass books I read years ago called "Fascinating Womanhood" and "Man Of Steel And Velvet," which basically advised men to do manly things like kill spiders and women to cry like little girls when their husbands were unfaithful to them (thus, playing upon the emotions of these dudes and bringing them back into line.) I kind of tried to get into these ideas, as I was a Reagan conservative at the time, and all. But, they also kind of made me gag. Over the years, I have decided that these books and their ideas serve nobody, really. You don't encourage women to act like little girls in order to gain the love of their husbands. Women are also plenty capable of killing spiders, for land's sake. And being a good, suportive husband does not require dudes to perform manly feats of daring-do. My son, for example, is a very manly man. And guess who was standing on the arm of the sofa when the GIANT lizard got into the family room? And guess which woman with the biology degree caught said lizard -- with her bare hands, no less. Yet, when I am at a loss and need advice about an important matter, guess which young man is always readily available with a sympathetic ear and solid horse sense? "Manliness" and "womanliness" are not always so easily defined.
Anyway, these fascinating, steely, velvety ideas seem to be back, although somewhat repackaged. Women need love and men need respect, you say? I say bunk. They both need both. Over a lifetime, they both need both.
Now, I have heard women speak disrespectfully of their husbands. Truly disrespectfully. And -- maybe -- that is what these "new" ideas are addressing. It is very destructive to a marriage when a woman is consistently disrespectful of her husband in thought, word, and deed. It is just plain mean. And shows a lack of love. But, I have also heard husbands speak disrespectfully of their wives, which is destructive. And mean. And shows a lack of love. Love and respect are -- intricately and irrevocably -- tied together.
I guess, though, what people may be thinking of, when they speak husbandly love, are tenderness on the part of the husband toward his wife -- an emotional connection, understanding of her feelings, a sweet touch and expression, an intuitive knowledge of her needs in the moment. For example, if the wife is suffering severe barfiness and exhaustion every evening during her first trimester of pregnancy, a husband who knows -- without being asked -- to bring the TV into the bedroom, so he can both watch the game and rub his wife's back while she suffers for the sake of their child, could be said to be showing love. This husband realizes the need his wife has of being close to him, even if she is not particularly good company for a few months. He will recognize that watching the TV out in the living room while his wife is stuck in the bedroom every evening after dinner -- unable to achieve an upright position without upchucking -- is not the loving thing to do.
By the same token, when people think of a wife showing respect to her husband, they may mean that she actively shows an appreciation for the things he does for her and their family, for his abilities, for his strengths. If a husband is good at his job or at household repairs, for example, he probably would appreciate his wife praising him for those things. Such praise from the woman he loves would, naturally, give a man confidence and build his self-esteem.
Now, before I make my feminist self hurl by talking like this, I would like to point something out.
Even though women need love and men need respect, I believe it is equally true that women need respect and men need love. I have been married long enough -- and many of my friends have been married long enough -- that I know this. I know it for sure.
After a long day, during an illness, while grieving a loss -- heck, at any and all times -- men need "love" just as much as women do, in many of the same forms that women need it. They enjoy tenderness and intuitive understanding just as much as any woman.
And women need respect as much as any man does. Women go through many phases in their lives -- phases which are often dramatically different from each other. This may sound -- or even be -- sexist, but many women bear children. And this bearing of children and raising them and having them leave the nest means that a woman must redefine herself several times as she goes through life, in a way that is both professional and profoundly personal. Having the respect of her husband is vital to a woman -- to her self-confidence and sense of self-esteem -- as she goes through these phases. A husband who shows his wife that he respects her in her roles as a wife and mother, in her professional and creative endeavors, who actively supports her as she transitions from one major role to the next, gives her a truly priceless gift. The esteem with which a husband regards his wife's intelligence, opinions, and thought processes will profoundly impact the way she views herself. A husband's respect for his wife has just as much an impact on her self-confidence, self-esteem, and success as a wife's respect for her husband has on him.
Life is complicated, and sometimes (blessedly) messy. Let's not put each other into nice, neat little boxes too easily. Those boxes, which -- admittedly -- may seem to work at times, can end up being our self-imposed prisons, whether we are male or female, married or single, or some combination thereof.
Pax.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)